Droll Stories – Complete. Honore de Balzac

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СКАЧАТЬ Philippe, if thou will renounce her, I will present thee with thirty angels from the poor-box.”

      “Ah! my lord, I should be losing too much,” replied the lad, emboldened by the treat he promised himself.

      “Ah! Philippe,” said the good prelate, “thou wilt then go to the devil and displease God, like all our cardinals,” and the master, with sorrow, began to pray St. Gatien, the patron saint of Innocents, to save his servant. He made him kneel down beside him, telling him to recommend himself also to St. Philippe, but the wretched priest implored the saint beneath his breath to prevent him from failing if on the morrow that the lady should receive him kindly and mercifully; and the good archbishop, observing the fervour of his servant, cried out him, “Courage little one, and Heaven will exorcise thee.”

      On the morrow, while Monsieur was declaiming at the Council against the shameless behaviour of the apostles of Christianity, Philippe de Mala spent his angels – acquired with so much labour – in perfumes, baths, fomentations, and other fooleries. He played the fop so well, one would have thought him the fancy cavalier of a gay lady. He wandered about the town in order to find the residence of his heart’s queen; and when he asked the passers-by to whom belonged the aforesaid house, they laughed in his face, saying —

      “Whence comes this precious fellow that has not heard of La Belle Imperia?”

      He was very much afraid he and his angels were gone to the devil when he heard the name, and knew into what a nice mess he had voluntarily fallen.

      Imperia was the most precious, the most fantastic girl in the world, although she passed for the most dazzling and the beautiful, and the one who best understood the art of bamboozling cardinals and softening the hardiest soldiers and oppressors of the people. She had brave captains, archers, and nobles, ready to serve her at every turn. She had only to breathe a word, and the business of anyone who had offended her was settled. A free fight only brought a smile to her lips, and often the Sire de Baudricourt – one of the King’s Captains – would ask her if there were any one he could kill for her that day – a little joke at the expense of the abbots. With the exception of the potentates among the high clergy with whom Madame Imperia managed to accommodate her little tempers, she ruled everyone with a high hand in virtue of her pretty babble and enchanting ways, which enthralled the most virtuous and the most unimpressionable. Thus she lived beloved and respected, quite as much as the real ladies and princesses, and was called Madame, concerning which the good Emperor Sigismund replied to a lady who complained of it to him, “That they, the good ladies, might keep to their own proper way and holy virtues, and Madame Imperia to the sweet naughtiness of the goddess Venus” – Christian words which shocked the good ladies, to their credit be it said.

      Philippe, then thinking over it in his mind that which on the preceding evening he had seen with his eyes, doubted if more did not remain behind. Then was he sad, and without taking bite or sup, strolled about the town waiting the appointed hour, although he was well-favoured and gallant enough to find others less difficult to overcome than was Madame Imperia.

      The night came; the little Touranian, exalted with pride caparisoned with desire, and spurred by his “alacks” and “alases” which nearly choked him, glided like an eel into the domicile of the veritable Queen of the Council – for before her bowed humbly all the authority, science, and wisdom of Christianity. The major domo did not know him, and was going to bundle him out again, when one of the chamber-women called him from the top of the stairs – “Eh, M. Imbert, it is Madame’s young fellow,” and poor Philippe, blushing like a wedding night, ran up the stairs, shaking with happiness and delight. The servant took him by the hand and led into the chamber where sat Madame, lightly attired like a brave woman who awaits her conqueror.

      The dazzling Imperia was seated near a table covered with a shaggy cloth ornamented with gold, and with all the requisites for a dainty carouse. Flagons of wine, various drinking glasses, bottles of the hippocras, flasks full of good wine of Cyprus, pretty boxes full of spices, roast peacocks, green sauces, little salt hams – all that would gladden the eyes of the gallant if he had not so madly loved Madame Imperia.

      She saw well that the eyes of the young priest were all for her. Although accustomed to the curl-paper devotion of the churchmen, she was well satisfied that she had made a conquest of the young priest who all day long had been in her head.

      The windows had been closed; Madame was decked out in a manner fit to do honours to a prince of the Empire. Then the rogue, beatified by the holy beauty of Imperia, knew that Emperor, burgraf, nay, even a cardinal about to be elected pope, would willingly for that night have changed places with him, a little priest who, beneath his gown, had only the devil and love.

      He put on a lordly air, and saluted her with a courtesy by no means ungraceful; and then the sweet lady said to him, regaling with a piercing glance —

      “Come and sit close to me, that I may see if you have altered since yesterday.”

      “Oh yes,” said he.

      “And how?” said she.

      “Yesterday,” replied the artful fellow, “I loved you; today, we love each other, and from a poor sinner I have become richer than a king.”

      “Oh, little one, little one!” cried she, merrily; “yes, you are indeed changed, for from a young priest I see well you have turned into an old devil.”

      And side by side they sat down before a large fire, which helped to spread their ecstasy around. They remained always ready to begin eating, seeing that they only thought of gazing into each other’s eyes, and never touched a dish. Just as they were beginning to feel comfortable and at their ease, there came a great noise at Madame’s door, as if people were beating against it, and crying out.

      “Madame,” cried the little servant hastily, “here’s another of them.”

      “Who is it?” cried she in a haughty manner, like a tyrant, savage at being interrupted.

      “The Bishop of Coire wishes to speak with you.”

      “May the devil take him!” said she, looking at Philippe gently.

      “Madame he has seen the light through the chinks, and is making a great noise.”

      “Tell him I have the fever, and you will be telling him no lie, for I am ill of this little priest who is torturing my brain.”

      But just as she had finished speaking, and was pressing with devotion the hand of Philippe who trembled in his skin, appeared the fat Bishop of Coire, indignant and angry. The officers followed him, bearing a trout canonically dressed, fresh from the Rhine, and shining in a golden platter, and spices contained in little ornamental boxes, and a thousand dainties, such as liqueurs and jams, made by the holy nuns at his Abbey.

      “Ah, ah!” said he, with his deep voice, “I haven’t time to go to the devil, but you must give me a touch of him in advance, eh! my little one.”

      “Your belly will one day make a nice sheath for a sword,” replied she, knitting her brows above her eyes, which from being soft and gentle had become mischievous enough to make one tremble.

      “And this little chorus singer is here to offer that?” said the bishop, insolently turning his great rubicund face towards Philippe.

      “Monseigneur, I’m here to confess Madame.”

      “Oh, oh, do you not know the canons? To confess the ladies at this time of night is a right reserved to bishops, so take yourself off; go and herd with simple monks, and never come back here again under pain of excommunication.”

      “Do СКАЧАТЬ